


Stop and Smell the Flowers

by The_Cheesemonger



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A few other characters are mentioned - Freeform, Gen, If you haven’t read Ferdinand you totally should, Nobody dies so don’t worry, There will be some blood, There will be some fluff at the end as well, and this is basically it just made more Good Omens, but they’re not really in this, it’s a bullfight so like...duh, it’s just a cute kids book, the Archangels and Beezlebub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:54:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cheesemonger/pseuds/The_Cheesemonger
Summary: This is the Ferdinand AU nobody asked forOnce upon a time in Spain there was a little bull and his name was Aziraphale.•••They called him Aziraphale the Fierce and all of the Banderilleros were afraid of him and the Picadores were afraid of him and Crowley was scared stiff. He was monstrous, blindingly white, with wide rolling eyes. This animal was all power and strength, snorting, and puffing, and pawing the ground.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 9





	Stop and Smell the Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> So the book is super nostalgic for me because i remember reading it at my gramma’s house as a kid and suddenly out of the blue one day i realize it would fit perfectly with good omens. And then i wrote this short little fic in one night at like 1 am sooooo yeah this my first published fanfic
> 
> Disclaimer: i don’t own Good Omens or Ferdinand :)

Once upon a time in Spain there was a little bull and his name was Aziraphale. 

All the other little bulls he lived with loved to run and jump and butt their heads together. 

But not Aziraphale. 

He had a favorite spot out in the pasture under a cork tree. It was his favorite tree and he would sit in its shade all day and smell the flowers. 

Sometimes his mother, who was a cow, would worry about him. She was afraid he would be lonesome all by himself. 

“Why don’t you run and play with the other little bulls and skip and butt your head?” she would say. 

But Aziraphale would just shake his head and say. “I like it better here where I can sit just quietly and smell the flowers.”

His mother saw he was lonesome and didn’t like the other little bulls’ games, but because she was an understanding mother, she let him just sit there and be happy with his own company. 

As the years went by, Aziraphale grew and grew until he was very big and strong. 

All the other bulls who had grown up with him in the same pasture would fight each other all day. They would butt each other and stick each other with their horns. 

What they wanted most of all was to be picked to fight at the bill fights in Madrid. 

But not Aziraphale—he still liked to sit just quietly under the cork tree and smell the flowers. 

It was peaceful despite the frequent visits from Gabriel or Michael or Sandalphon or Uriel asking if he was ready to fight like a real bull. He would just quietly shake his head and they would scoff but quickly rejoin the others, once again leaving him alone. 

One day three people came in very funny hats to pick the biggest, fastest, toughest bull to fight in the bullfights in Madrid. One of them had a hat that looked like a fly and another had a frog shaped hat on his head and another had a hat that looked like a lizard. 

All the other bulls ran around snorting and butting, leaping and jumping so the people would think that they were very very strong and fierce and pick them. 

Aziraphale knew that they wouldn't pick him and he didn't care. He had no wish to fight. So he went out to his favorite cork tree to sit down. 

Unfortunately, he didn't look where he was sitting and instead of sitting on the nice cool grass in the shade he sat on a bumble bee. Normally, Aziraphale quite liked bumblebees, but he was a bit preoccupied by the people with funny hats, so it’s understandable that he didn’t see the bee in time. 

Well, anyway, if you were a bumblebee and a bull sat on you what would you do? You would sting him. And that is just what this bee did to Aziraphale. 

Wow did it hurt! 

Aziraphale jumped up with a snort! 

He ran around puffing and snorting, butting and pawing the ground as if he were crazy! 

The three funny hat people saw him and they all shouted with joy! Here was the largest and fiercest bull of all! Just the one for the bullfights in Madrid!

“Oh dear!” thought Aziraphale, “This is not ideal.”

So they took him away for the bullfight day in a cart. And what a day it was! 

Flags were flying, bands were playing...and all the lovely ladies had flowers in their hair. Lots and lots of flowers. Aziraphale had never seen so many blooms in one place before and their sweet scent comforted him in his fear. 

He didn’t want to fight. 

•••

They had a parade into the bull ring. First came the Banderilleros, Eric, Eric, and Eric, with long sharp pins with ribbons on them to stick in the bull and make him mad. 

Next came the Picadores, Eric, Eric, and Eric, who rode skinny horses and they had long spears to stick in the bull and make him madder. 

Then came the Matador, Crowley—who thought himself very handsome with his gold embroidered, black silk, traje de luces—and bowed to the ladies. 

He had a bright red cape and a sword and was supposed to stab the bull last of all. 

Despite his confident exterior, Crowley was nervous. It would be his first bullfight in front of so many people, and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, it would be his last if he failed. And he could not fail. Beezlebub would be attending today, and it was rumored she had picked his opponent personally. That did not bode well for him. 

Crowley took a deep breath and, cocky smile in place, turned with a flourish to the gate where the bull would appear any moment now. 

The gate burst open!

Banderilleros, Picadores, and Matador all tensed!

The crowd leaned forwards in anticipation. 

Then came the bull. 

They called him Aziraphale the Fierce and all of the Banderilleros were afraid of him and the Picadores were afraid of him and Crowley was scared stiff. He was monstrous, blindingly white, with wide rolling eyes. This animal was all power and strength, snorting, and puffing, and pawing the ground. 

He charged. 

•••

Aziraphale stood shifting in the gate for a long moment, trying to take it all in. There were so many people shouting, the sun glinting off gleaming weapons, all pointed at him by men with blood in their eyes and fire in their hearts. 

Someone prodded his flank sharply. Startled, he ran through the gate and to the middle of the ring and everyone shouted and clapped because they thought he was going to fight fiercely and butt and snort and stick his horns around.

But that was not Aziraphale. 

When he got to the middle of the ring he saw the flowers in all the lovely ladies' hair and he just sat down quietly and smelled. 

He wouldn't fight and be fierce no matter what they did. 

He just sat and smelled. 

And the Banderilleros were mad and the Picadores were madder. 

And they crept towards him, wary at first, brandishing pins and spears, but faster and with more confidence when Aziraphale did not charge them. They shouted and danced around with capes, trying to make him angry. 

They pricked his sides and flanks to goad him into a fight. 

But still Aziraphale sat and smelled the fresh flowers and the fresh blood. 

Eventually, one of the Picadores got so angry he stabbed his spear right into Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale let out a quiet low of pain but did not rise to defend himself. 

•••

Crowley stared as the beast charged into the center of the ring. 

Crowley’s jaw dropped in shock as the animal sat down suddenly, snorted, and closed its great rolling eyes. 

And Crowley stood horrified when the Erics closed in on the motionless white bull. 

But it was the bull’s mournful cry of pain that snapped him out of his stupor. In that moment, his carefully cultivated “Cool Guy” persona shattered along with his heart. Gone were the thoughts of showing off. Gone were the fears of disappointing Beezlebub. Gone was the fear of Aziraphale himself. 

At that cry, Crowley leapt forward shouting at the Banderilleros and Picadores to get away from their unwilling target. Begrudgingly they backed away, maybe feeling a bit guilty, most likely just thinking he wanted to finish the white bull himself. 

Crowley slowed as he approached Aziraphale, but he hardly moved, just watched him warily with intelligent brown eyes. Crowley stopped. As he unsheathed his sword, those eyes flickered with fear that died just as quickly when he tossed the sword away. 

The crowd gasped. 

Crowley closed the remaining distance, gingerly laying a hand on his hereditary enemy’s neck and draping the scarlet cape over Aziraphale’s sticky red shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

At that moment, it was just the two of them. No spectators, no Erics, and no Beezlebub. 

Then Aziraphale carefully climbed to his feet and against the backdrop of booing crowds and shouting fighters, Matador and bull walked side by side out of the ring. 

Crowley took Aziraphale back home. And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly, but no longer alone. 

Sometimes a retired bullfighter with flame red hair will curl up next to Aziraphale and nap or read to him for hours. They are very happy.

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually really fun! i don’t write as much as i should so if i do anything else i’m excited to see how i’ll improve :) any comments or kudos are appreciated
> 
> and i hope whoever reads this has a wonderful day


End file.
